


You have the emotional quotient of a fucking goldfish

by j_obsessed



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Literal Sleeping Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24490579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_obsessed/pseuds/j_obsessed
Summary: Joe comes to terms with some things. There's no angst. He is just a little oblivious and has the emotional quotient of a goldfish :')
Relationships: Jos Buttler/Joe Root
Comments: 24
Kudos: 15





	You have the emotional quotient of a fucking goldfish

Joe doesn't know why he decides to go on social media after the loss to the Indians. He usually doesn't. He knows he shouldn’t, Jos has told him too many times for him to count “ignore it and stay out of your own head” but, tonight, he went ahead and looked anyway. Fuck Jos.

It’s not like he specifically was going on there to read bad commentary about their performance, or some masochistic thing like that. He’s just bored, and can’t sleep. He’s absentmindedly scrolling through Instagram, peeping at cat videos and some memes. Contrary to popular belief he’s not _entirely_ distant from the ‘young scene.’ Jos would’ve laughed. Despite being older, he always seems to be more in tune with this whole ‘youth’ thing going on. Joe briefly wonders why he keeps thinking about the blonde wicketkeeper, but he can’t really come up with an answer for himself.

Eventually, he gets to a video of tonight’s game against India, and he can make out from the jersey number, that it’s of Jos. His best friend, is really, one of the most talented batsmen in the whole world. He’s generally quite quiet, softly spoken, not overly snappy unless he was ~~yelling at~~ talking to someone who had ~~looked at~~ ~~spoken to~~ ~~flirted with~~ _annoyed_ Joe. But, on the field, he’s got the prowess, the power and the perfection, to make everybody stop and stare.

It’s a compilation of Jos’ batting along with some commentary. Joe turns up the volume and adjusts his posture from his slouched position on the couch.

It starts right after Morgs had been dismissed. The camera zooms in on the wicketkeeper as he makes his way into the field. And Jos looks... determined… steeled, and… angry maybe? Which is very unlike him. Jos is usually a really level-headed and calm person, even if their team is in a tight position. He is always, always determined though. He’s so talented, and so consistent, in every event of every match, if they needed someone to take them home, Joe would pick Jos in a heartbeat. Not just for that, but, because of the way Jos carries himself. All through tonight’s game, the wicketkeeper had kept talking to everyone on the field, encouraging them, keeping them focused, congratulating their efforts. It didn’t, for a moment, feel like they were being gunned down on a battlefield.

_Joe has been out in the middle with Jos plenty of times. And he’s watched Jos from the balcony, plenty of times too. But, in those situations, you’re too worried about winning or losing the match or focusing on your own technique, or perhaps, possibly, berating yourself for playing a stupid shot, that it’s hard to appreciate the talent and beauty of the people on strike. So watching this highlight reel back is a bit of an_ _experience._

_Because_ _fuck,_ _Jos can bat. It’s not like Joe doesn’t know this, don’t be mistaken. He spends so much time with the blonde wicketkeeper, training and practising sure, but, going out to eat, spending the day watching football, or playing FIFA tournaments, that it’s impossible not to know just how fantastic Jos is at his job. But_ _watching him_ _is something else._

He watches as Jos hits boundary after boundary with effortless taps of the bat, sending the ball twenty rows back into the crowd. Watches the impeccable timing of the ball, the inventive shots the keeper plays just to mess with the field setting, before charging down the pitch and smacking bowlers for six. And he watches the cheeky smirk on the keeper’s face after every single shot. Wow. _Jos looks good when he bats._

The video also happens to include some of Jos’ interview with a presenter after the match, discussing what went wrong, and plans for the next match, all coupled with that typical on-brand Buttler sarcasm. It really doesn’t help that Jos is covered in sweat and half-stripped from his cricket gear. Just in tracks, a black undershirt that was hugging his arm muscles ( _biceps_ , Joe, _biceps_ , focus please) just perfectly, hair covered in sweat from keeping for the last few hours. Joe fans himself subconsciously. He really can’t help himself. _Wow. Jos looks good after he bats too._

Maybe it's because it's past 1 am, and he's delirious from being awake so long, and playing cricket for 8 hours in the sun might have something to do with it too... But he finds himself getting up, shoving shoes and a shirt on (he doesn’t remember it being his own… maybe it’s Eoin’s?), heading downstairs, and walking to Jos' apartment.

He doesn't have time to think about what the hell he's doing, going to Jos' place in the early morning/late night. He certainly doesn’t have time to think about what Jos is even going to do with him (to him??????? _Shut up, brain…_ ) until he's waiting under his building, for Jos to let him in...

 _He’s obviously going to be asleep, he must be exhausted. What the hell am I doing???_ But before Joe can turn away Jos' raspy voice comes through the speaker on the keypad.

"Hello?" Jos asks, obviously confused, and very very sleepy. Joe can’t help a smile at that. Imagines Jos’ messy hair and sleepy smile and crumpled shirt- or maybe _no shirt- Joe stop it_.

For the second time in almost twenty minutes, Joe is wondering why Jos is the only thing that’s consuming his brain tonight. "Um, hi, it's uh, it’s Joe, will you let me in? Please?." He says softly.

Jos suddenly sounds a little panicked. “Joey? What’s happened, is everything okay?!” Jos unlocks the door immediately.

“I’m okay. Everything’s okay.” Joe replies, holding the door open, smiling unconsciously at his best friend’s concern. He really is so lucky.

The panic in Jos’ voice subsides immediately. “Okay then, come on up Joey.”

Jos lives in an upper level of a beautiful Lancashire tower, where the apartments have more extensive square footage and beautiful French windows. Joe starts thinking about shoving Jos against those windows- but he chalks it down to being deliriously tired. _What exactly is he here for again?_

Joe clicks in 11 and starts thinking about what he’s going to tell his wicketkeeper. What excuse he’s going to make for his impromptu visit at this ungodly hour of the morning.

He knocks timidly and comes face to face with a mildly confused Jos, who gestures for Joe to come inside, before closing and locking the door behind them. Joe really really wants to shove Jos against that too…

Concerned and panicked Jos™ has seemingly faded, and Joe is almost glad for it when he hears the usual ‘why have I been woken up’ Jos™ instead. “What could be urgent enough, that you had to visit my apartment at one-thirty in the morning?”

Part of Joe wants to deadpan that it’s actually _not_ one-thirty, but Jos keeps talking.

“Why couldn’t you just text me? Or even call me. You know, if it was anybody else, I would’ve told them to fuck right off” Jos says grumpily. Joe has to fight his happiness down upon hearing that, because, it’s true and he knows it. Jos would’ve ~~cussed~~ laughed in anyone else’s face if they woke him up at this unreasonable hour.

Because a sleep-deprived, or a just-woken-up Jos, is no small challenge to handle. But they’ve always had a soft spot, just for each other, and the whole team knows about it too. Actually, when they’re on tour, the job of waking up Jos always goes to Joe, because the young batsman is the only one who can manage it both a) on time, and b) without irritating the keeper enough to validate a shoe being launched at him.

He had clearly been asleep, and Joe almost feels bad for waking him up like this- especially since he still has no goddamn idea why he is here. But, Jos’ hair is sticking up in all directions and his cheeks are puffy and Joe really just wants to hold him. He really really just wants to squish Jos into a hug, or dive into his arms.

So he does. And simultaneously decides that this is his excuse. Yep. Foolproof.

It’s 1:22, and Joe needs a hug. From Jos. Specifically. Nothing else will do.

Joe steps forward and wraps his arms tightly around the keeper’s shoulders, tucks his face into the base of his neck and _breathes_. Jos doesn’t even bat an eyelash. The younger feels muscled arms come to rest around his middle, and feels some of his apprehension melt away. He steps back softly, and smiles, looking at the blonde boy. 

And maybe it’s because Jos looks incredibly ~~beautiful~~ comfortable. Perhaps it’s because he actually let Joe inside when they should both be asleep, nowhere near each other. Could be because they’re standing way too close (on either side of the entryway), and Joe can see the curl of Jos’ eyelashes. It’s probably all of those actually, that makes Joe decide, he _really_ wants to kiss Jos.

 _Oh._ is all Joe’s mind supplies for a moment.

“Oh,” is all Joe says aloud.

Then he starts to spiral. And honestly- it does make a lot of sense.

Joe never really had a relationship before. Not just because he’s young (his mother would disagree ‘you’re getting on Joe, you need to find a nice girl to settle down with!’), but because he was just _busy_.

Oh, and he didn’t really care for girls. Sounds bad but, it’s true.

Cricket has always taken up most of his time, so he never really had a meaningful relationship with anyone- aside from his teammates of course. Not that he really wanted to anyway, one or two night stands were his bread and butter. He rationalises that as the reason he didn’t recognise what this feeling was for so long.

He’d die for Morgs and Ali and Jimmy, and he loves Ben and Mark and Stu and Finny with all his heart. But Jos is a different case entirely, he’s just managed to realise. (He also, somewhat, allows himself to address the fact that he _always_ thought that Jos was very attractive. Blonde-brown hair, blue eyes, tall, strong, slender hands with controlling fingers, sharp jawline, muscled thighs- _fuck okay Joe take it easy._ )

The feeling he gets when Morgs smashes a cover drive, _that_ is admiration. When Benny manages to hit the top of off, or rip middle stump out of the ground, _that_ is admiration.

 _That_ is absolutely _nothing_ compared to the current state he’s in, standing in Jos Buttler’s doorway, two breaths from jumping down the man’s throat because of a video where he was literally _doing his job_.

Turns out that maybe, just maybe, Mark had a point in saying that Joe had the “emotional quotient of a fucking goldfish.”

He’s snapped out of his thoughts by a very confused and somewhat impatient _“Joey. What the fuck do you want?”_

Yeah, just because Jos has a soft spot for him, doesn’t mean he’s any less _Jos_ about being woken up at this hour. He should’ve gotten that by now.

Jos is standing right fucking there with this expectant look, and it is not helping at all. Because while Joe’s definitely sure he likes Jos (only realised a minute ago, but shut up), and definitely wants to kiss him (that’s, probably been there a while to be honest… again, shut up), Jos looks too pretty, and Joe is malfunctioning big time.

He can’t help but notice that Jos looks really cute? hot? in his sweats, hair messy from sleep, and eyes still adjusting to the light. Maybe that’s why instead of saying something, even a single word- to explain his arrival at a _friend’s_ apartment at one-twenty… four? in the morning- he steps forward, further into Jos' space and kisses him.

He has to hold himself upright with a hand on the wall next to Jos’ head and fists a hand in Jos’ shirt because he doesn’t know whether he’ll ever get to do this again. He really wants to. Doesn’t think he can live without it, actually.

Right now, all he ever wants to do for the rest of his life is kiss the blonde wicketkeeper… and okay maybe some _other_ things. He briefly wonders what would've happened if he never realised he wanted this. Because this feels really fucking fantastic.

Jos' lips are plush and warm and soft, and he really wants to sink his teeth into them, leave them red and bitten and-

Oh dear.

Oh bloody fucking hell and _shit_ what has he just done.

He's shaking with the overwhelming panic of what he's just started (also from the fact that he’s currently kissing Jos), but before he even tries to pull back, Jos has placed a hand on his waist and has drawn him closer.

And then Jos is kissing him back.

_Jos is kissing him back????_

Joe feels like his soul is about to leave his body. Jos’ other hand comes to rest at the side of his neck. And. Correction, Joe’s soul _has_ left his body.

He moves his hand to Jos’ jaw, playing his fingers across the keeper’s sharp jawline. Jos is so _gentle_ with him. Touches him like he’s made of porcelain. Jos opens his mouth and tilts his head to let Joe kiss him harder. He lets the younger choose what happens next. And in all honesty, this is something Joe is really grateful for. Because he’s never kissed a guy before. And even if he has thought about it, or imagined it, actually feeling it happen, is a little overwhelming. His head is spinning, but everything feels so _right._

He slowly presses his tongue into Jos’ mouth, kissing him deeper, less shy, more expressive. The taller boy’s mouth is hot and wet and the sensation knocks the oxygen right out of Joe’s lungs. He lets himself run his fingers over the wicketkeeper’s shoulder’s, lightly digging his nails into the side of Jos’ neck when it gets too much.

He pulls away, with a hand still clutched Jos’ shirt, because Joe really does need to breathe. He regrets it instantaneously because he’d honestly rather die from asphyxiation than stop kissing Jos. Joe opens his eyes, and by _God,_ he doesn’t regret that. Because Jos is staring back at him, _wanting_. Eyes three shades darker than usual, and he’s breathing heavily into the space between them. He looks absolutely _fucked._

“You’re hot. It’s not fair. Stop doing that.” And before Jos can laugh, his mouth is occupied again. This time it's more desperate, more intense. Joe is biting at Jos' lower lip, causing him to whimper softly.

Jos tugs Joe's waist closer, slipping his thigh between the batsman’s legs. Joe easily complies. He experimentally (lies, he knows exactly what he’s doing) rolls his hips against his teammate's solid thigh, letting out a soft moan. Jos’ hands tighten around his hips, and he tenses the muscle in his thigh purposefully. _Fuck you Jos- you and your damn thighs. Ugh._

Joe takes this opportunity to kiss down the side of his neck and graze his teeth, just ever so lightly. He adds to the assault, sinking his teeth into the tendon just at the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Hard, but not hard enough to leave any marks just yet.

He doesn't get to ask how Jos feels about that whole situation though, because they hear a door open. And Joe suddenly fucking remembers, that Morgs stays with Joe when they have matches near Lancashire. Because Morgs, lives in fucking Middlesex. Of course, this would be the one damn night Eoin fucking Morgan is here. Of all the nights.

They jump apart. Although, there’s not really much that could give them away… (lies, there’s the mark slowly bruising on Jos’ neck- _oops never mind_ , the heavy breathing, their slightly swollen lips, the odd nail marks in Jos’ shirt)

“So yeah, I thought that field setting was okay actually, our slips were well positioned, and it’s just Virat Kohli is a- _Oh,_ _hey_ _Morgs, didn’t know you were awake._ Everything okay? _”_ Jos says.

His voice doesn’t even waver. And Joe wants to know how the fuck Jos pulled that one off. Because if Joe tried to speak right now, he’s pretty sure the only words that would come out are “can you leave so I can fuck his mouth with my tongue again?”

Distractedly, he thinks he’d like the keeper to fuck his mouth with his- _Fucking Christ, get a grip goddamnit Joseph Root._

“Yeah all good. Hi… Joey?” he asks as he is walking to the kitchen, and Joe thinks he almost sees a smirk on his captain’s face, one that Jos seems to miss entirely, much more occupied with pressing his fingers lightly against the mark on his neck and trying to keep the surprise off his face. He must be able to feel it. Joe thinks he looks adorable and is hit with another urge to go sink his teeth into the wicketkeeper’s neck.

“Um- hi. I was just uh, just, uh leaving, yeah.” Joe responds with a small wave. How articulate. Jos has to keep himself from bursting out laughing. Eoin looks incredibly amused.

“Right, sure…” Eoin remarks, half-smirk still on his face.

They patiently wait for Eoin to head back to his room. Both of them too absorbed in making sure Morgs didn’t suspect anything, to realise that he just walked out of his room, and walked straight back in, for no apparent reason at all. Joe exhales audibly.

Jos comes over, and kisses his temple softly, with a bright smile.

He feels his chest tighten. “Uhm. Right. So. I like you. A lot.”

“Yeah? Think I might’ve got that from the way you waltzed into my apartment at 1:22 and made out with me in my doorway. And _then,_ gave me a decent love bite.” Jos agrees, grinning ridiculously, fingers fluttering over the bruising skin.

Joe rolls his eyes. “Shut up. You said one thirty before, I was going to correct you but uh, yeah, I was otherwise distracted.” 

Jos looks at him, so… _fondly_ , _and honest to god, Joe is so gone for him_ “I really like you too.” And Joe’s smile is blinding.

“Okay, I should go, I don’t want to get in your way, or wake up Morgs. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Joe says, leaning in and giving him one last toe-curling kiss before he turns around and heads out the door. Jos stares after him in disbelief. Not a second after Joe’s shut the door behind him, it opens again.

“The next time you want to kiss me, text me first will you?”

Joe turns around, stands right where he is, and pulls out his phone. Jos looks at him in utter confusion.

His phone chimes, with the specific text tone he’s set just for the blonde batsman, who just looks at him in anticipation. Jos fishes his phone out of his pocket, rolling his eyes. Will there be a day when he refuses Joe of a single thing? Probably not. (Definitely not.)

**Joe (1:46 am):** _can I kiss you?_

“You’re a fucking tease you know that. You’re terrible. Screw you.”

Joe just laughs brightly, grinning and slipping his phone back into his pocket. He’s pulled through the door roughly, crashing through it straight into Jos’ arms, lips locked the minute his back hits the wooden surface. _Fuck. This is definitely more than admiration._ He absentmindedly reflects, before Jos’ tongue flicks against his own and he almost slips down the door, very grateful for the wicketkeeper’s hands holding him steady.

That is so not fair.

He lets his head hit the door with a soft _thud_. And now that he has a perfect view of the Lancashire skyscape from the French window opposite the door, Joe definitely wants to shove Jos against it and then shove his tongue down his throat.

He hears Jos’ breath catch, and a slight chuckle, before realising he’s gone and said that out loud. Apparently, he has no control of anything he does when he’s around the other blonde. Within seconds, before he even has time to explain that he _definitely_ hasn’t thought about any of that before, his back is pressed up against the cold glass, and his thigh is held up against Jos’ hip, while his body involuntarily arches into the wicketkeeper’s intoxicating touch. Jos knows his body too well.

“Does it still work if I push you against it instead?” He asks cheekily, nudging his nose into the younger’s neck.

Joe attributes their synchronicity to the fact that they know each other so well. They’ve played against each other, with each other, and watched each other, and for so _long._ They’re so in tune, it’s almost unbelievable. “Fuck.” He feels Jos’ grin more than sees it, eyes shut and head tipped back as Jos returns his earlier treatment, sucking small bruises down the side of his jaw, biting lightly at his jugular.

Joe does NOT shiver. (He does)

Jos laughs at the mewl that escapes the batsman’s throat, as he noses down his neck, and tugs his shirt collar aside, to drag his teeth over the protruding collarbone. “That’s not fair, fuc-”, Joe’s whine is cut off, as Jos leaves another sharp bite at the column of his throat, resulting in a strangled gasp.

The wicketkeeper decides that he wants to hear that again, so he rucks up Joe’s shirt, and drags blunt nails over his toned stomach. He kisses up to Joe’s ear, flicking his tongue lightly against the cut of his jaw, “Are you doing okay there, sweetheart?”.

The teasing sass is not missed. It’s part of what made Joe realise this is what he wanted in the first place. He realises how absolutely _fucked_ he is, when Jos lightly nips at his ear, (something his past one night stands have clearly missed, but Jos somehow, someway, seems to know about) and he slumps against the wall _gasping;_ “I fucking hate you- god fuck me you’re awful- fuck do that _again. Please.”_

Jos should be illegal, really.

Joe has to take a second to reassess his position.

  1. He is currently pushed up against a beautiful French window overlooking Lancashire at give or take 2am on a Friday night.
  2. The man currently nipping and biting and sucking at his neck is none other than his _teammate, Jos Buttler- i.e. fuck me blue eyes blonde hair strong build pretty fingers goddamn thighs yadda yadda he’s repeating himself again-_ who he’s apparently had a crush on for give or take _six years_ now _._ He’s still struggling to get his head around this one. Mainly because Jos is biting him in _all_ the right places, and _just_ hard enough.
  3. The man in question has now paused his ministrations to look down, endearingly, at him, thumb brushing his lower lip, a smile playing on his face. His other hand is casually stroking the bare expanse of his hip under the shirt he haphazardly threw on before making his way here ~~to make out with Jos Buttler.~~
  4. ~~He thinks, maybe he discovered why he’s here…~~



When it catches up with Joe, that Jos has stopped kissing him, naturally, the younger huffs, very displeased, and incredibly disgruntled. “Why’d you stop”, he complains, pouting, as Jos dips his head down to kiss the offending look from his lips. Just a brush of his mouth, nothing heated, almost _loving,_ but Joe doesn’t let himself think about that too much just yet. Jos laughs lightly while the shorter tries to angle his head again, insistent on continuing where Jos left off. Joe audibly ‘hmpfs’.

“I just realised you’re wearing my shirt.” Jos wraps his arms around Joe, biceps resting snug around his shoulders, as the batsman is crushed against ~~his~~ the keeper’s broad frame. Jos rests his chin on Joe’s head, and the very sweet moment is broken by none other than Joe himself, who says;

“Wait what? I thought this was Morg’s...”

“Pardon my French, but why in the actual fuck would you have Morg’s shirt?!” Joe knows Jos’ eyebrows are raised, can hear the indignance in his tone, doesn’t even need to leave Jos’ chest to check. (He doesn’t particularly want to leave Jos’ chest actually, but that’s beside the point)

“Ooooh is that jealousy I detect?” He can’t resist, Jos has always been a bit of an ‘I don’t share’ person. Joe almost feels honoured, really.

“Fuck off, I’m just asking.” Joe doesn’t miss the way Jos’ arms squeeze him that little bit tighter and gets a little lost in thinking about what those arms _could do to him_ before he remembers to answer the slightly bemused wicketkeeper.

“M’sorry love, I just didn’t think you’d have given me one of your shirts, couldn’t really think of when that could’ve even happened.” Then, as an afterthought, he adds on, “Believe me, you don’t have much to be jealous of, Morgs is with Ben, and, I might possibly, maybe, perhaps, happen to have a thing for your arms.” He grins. Jos just holds him tighter.

“Gave it to you last year. World Cup final. After you got absolutely shit faced drunk and collapsed into my arms mumbling about needing a new shirt cause Stokesy spilt beer on you and- ‘Jossy I don’ wanna spend the whole night wearing these awful wet clothes so give me your shirt please- preferably the one you’re wearing’-” Jos makes his voice purposefully whiny and young, and Joe blushes at the story. Jos kisses the top of his head, absolutely endeared, and maybe a little in love. “Morgs said you had a shirt in your locker, offered to get it and all as well, but you adamantly denied that.” Joe almost runs out of the apartment. “So I gave you a spare one of mine, but, you specifically wanted the one I was wearing, and since when have I been known to deny you of anything-” Joe grins happily- because it’s so true. “So I gave you the one I was wearing and put the spare one on myself- and when I brought you back to your place, you wouldn’t let me take it back. You didn’t even let _me_ leave actually.”

Joe shoves his face into Jos’ neck. He definitely remembers that part, how he woke up tucked into Jos’ chest. No hangover, no splitting headache, nothing. That confused him more than the fact that he woke up in the arms of the wicketkeeper. Jos had then explained that he’d made Joe take an aspirin, drink three glasses of water, and tucked him into bed. Jos had conveniently left out the part where Joe had not only banned him from leaving but also banned Jos from sleeping on the couch, opting to tug the taller blonde right in behind him.

Joe is wondering how the fuck he never noticed that he loved him. Still loves him. Always will lo- _God you’re a sap, Joseph._ Whatever.

He starts leaving soft kisses, almost like little thank yous, across the keeper’s shoulders.

“I really like you.” He says, almost completely muffled by the wicketkeeper’s neck. He doesn’t think Jos caught it until he hears;

“Yeah? Prove it to me.” Suddenly, Jos is lying on the couch, and Joe is in his lap, clawing at every inch of him he can find.

“I goddamn _knew_ you were jealous.”

“Can’t fucking blame me. You’re hot, and everyone wants you, and I have a possessive streak. Sue me.”

“Oh _fuck_ _that’s hot_ -” The rest of Joe’s thoughts are muffled as Jos tugs his own shirt off, and Joe cannot help himself as he lets out a strangled groan. Because the keeper is really fucking hot. His shoulders are broad, chest well built, abdomen muscled, and he’s seen exactly what those arms can do in the gym. He’s staring, he knows, but that’s as far as he gets before Eoin’s door opens, and he strolls out, dressed in sweats, and Ben’s ECB hoodie. Before either of them have a chance to explain, he holds up a hand, very very exasperatedly. Jos braces himself for the dramatics. Living with Morgs lets you see an entirely different side to the Irish captain.

“I have been waiting for you two to get your shit together since two thousand and fucking THIRTEEN. Jos doesn’t fucking shut up about you, I don’t think I have gone a day- since I FUCKING MET HIM- without hearing him mention you or some sickeningly disgusting thing _about_ you. Benny says the exact same for you Joseph Root, don’t look so smug. I’m going to his hotel room, and please for the love of God, Jesus, Mary, Mohammed, Krishna _and_ Buddha, stay up the whole night and fuck it out of your systems, the sexual tension between you two is insufferable.” Jos is just barely, _barely_ holding himself together.

Eoin turns to leave but faces Joe with a smile, “Good on you, Ben and I thought we’d have to lock you both in the changeroom for a few hours. A soundproof, very isolated changeroom at that. You two look at each other like you want to fuck the other’s brains out. Fuck’s sake.” The door slams shut, and they can hear Morgs calling his boyfriend, complaining loudly about being _sexiled_ , but with this obvious _endearment and happiness_. They should buy him flowers, really. And they should get the taller ginger something too.

Joe doesn’t move, almost terrified to turn back to Jos, now that their captain knows. (Apparently he always knew??? Did everyone know but Joe??? What is this shit? Joe is honestly not this dumb okay. He swears.) Jos tugs him down to his chest, presses a soft kiss to his temple. “We don’t have to do anything baby, I’m happy with the developments so far”, he grins, and Joe tucks his face further into his neck. _Oh my god, he called me baby…_

“Will you still make out with me? Even if we don’t uh, fuck”, Joe sheepishly smiles up at Jos, “Because uhm, not that I’m opposed to that” -there’s a short remark of ‘ _believe me, I am more than fucking aware’,_ which Joe just rolls his eyes at _-_ “but, I only just realised that I’ve liked you for six years and I might actually die if you fuck me today. But I will also definitely die if you don’t kiss me. I am not joking I’ll literally stop existing.”

“Oh? _I’ll_ fuck _you?_ Knew you weren’t a top.” Jos shoves him into the couch and mouths at his neck. “Of course we can make out. I don’t really think that’s something I could ever refuse you of. And, you know baby, I’d never push you into anything. Ever.” Joe just grins up at his blonde wicketkeeper, relieved, and maybe a little more than a little in love. Jos smirks, adding “however, I may push you into this couch, and maybe a few windows if you’re still into that...”

“Shut uuuup” Joe hides his face behind his hands. The realisation catches up to him fast enough. And now he has to ask. “Did- did you just call me baby?”

“Yes. I think that was actually the second time I’ve done it. Is that okay with you?”

Joe whines, tries to hide his face even further, and now Jos is grinning like an idiot again, but he doesn’t care. The young blonde looks beautiful under him, hair fanned out messily against the plushness of his couch, and cheeks dusted red from the teasing. Jos could kiss him.

So he does. And it’s sweet and soft and lovely- for about 0.3 seconds, but then Joe is gasping helplessly into his mouth and clutching at his biceps- _ah, so that’s what he meant by “might possibly have a thing for your arms”,-_ digging his nails into Jos’ muscle and arching his hips up and _oh fuck, that’s good._

Jos hooks a finger under his chin to get him to make eye contact. The action alone causes a shiver to run down Joe’s bare spine. “God, you’re a picture, you know that?” Jos says, pressing a very contrasting soft kiss to the dip in his collarbones. He crawls down Joe’s body, lips attached to his tanned skin, sucking marks into the flesh from just under his collarbone, to the waistband of his sweats, tonguing over his hipbones, and biting softly at the top of his v-line. He mumbles praise after praise, and Joe lies there, unable to do anything but gasp and moan into the air, and tangle his fingers in the blonde’s messed up hair. _Thank God Morgs went to see Stokesy. Bless them honestly._

Joe pulls the boy up to kiss him messily, and when their tongues make contact, for the thousandth time that night, Joe actually _has_ to sink his nails into Jos’ back to ground himself. That will be his excuse when Jos finds crescent-shaped cuts across his upper back. _He’s currently doing well at this whole excuse thing._

Somehow, the gesture does the exact _opposite_ of what it was supposed to. Because Jos lets out an absolutely filthy groan and ruts his hips down into him roughly, and Joe might actually die right then and fucking there. To be completely honest, it’s not a bad way to go, not in the slightest. He’s incoherent, on the straight verge of ecstasy, Jos groaning into his mouth, hard against his thigh, and _fuck this needs to stop because he’s actually going dizzy and-_

Jos gets the hint, and slows their frantic kissing to soft, slow brushes of their lips, brings Joe to lie on top of him, breathing in each other’s air, cuddling on the couch, like a domestic married couple. The idea alone has Jos wanting to run for the hills.

But it also, sort of, kind of, maybe, almost, _definitely_ makes him want to drag Joe to Tiffany and Co. to get a ring sized, like, right now. (He knows the boy has a slight obsession for sparkly things). A very intelligent ‘wow’ slips from his lips, and that has Joe giggling into his neck, body shivering slightly at the cold after their heated “discussion”. He slips Joe’s (his) shirt back onto the young batsman and tugs him into his room.

“Got me into your bed on the first date Buttler, colour me incredibly impressed” he’s laughing, interrupting his own ~~very witty~~ remark with a yawn.

“This was not a date, and it’s not like you’ve never been in my bed before. Get over here, you dork.” Joe almost frowns at that, but Jos pulls the younger boy into his bed, arms wrapping around his stomach, and he forgets how to be worried. He forgets everything except the feel of Jos around him. The boy in question pulls the covers up to their shoulders and presses soft kisses into the sandy-haired boy’s upper back. They fall asleep just like that, wrapped up in each other, almost three hours after Joe initially decided to make an impromptu visit to his favourite wicketkeeper-batsman.

***

When Jos wakes up the next morning (afternoon…), Joe is still tucked tightly into his arms, fluffy brown hair splayed untidily across his eyes, framing his gorgeous face as the sun streams into the bedroom from the window. _This is so grossly domestic; Jos almost wants to throw up, or maybe run away to Ukraine, but..._

But the gorgeous boy sleeping in his arms looks too peaceful, too _precious_ , too perfect, for the keeper to even think about disturbing him for such dumb, trivial things. So he settles for peppering tiny kisses to Joe’s face, neck, shoulders and jaw. Closed mouth kisses over the harsh marks from last night, and over every inch of Joe that he can reach. It doesn’t take long for Joe to scrunch up his face and pout, complaining about not being kissed properly.

“Had no problems kissing me till I couldn’t speak last night, what’s the matter now huh?” He huffs, leaning up to softly catch Jos’ lips in a very cliché morning after kiss. They make their way to the bathroom together, brush their teeth in synchronicity (after Jos gets him a spare toothbrush he definitely hadn’t been waiting for an excuse to use. Joe leaves it in the cup right next to Jos’ one, because maybe he’ll spend a few nights here, or something like that) and then Joe plants himself on a barstool as Jos makes them their regulars. Yorkshire tea for Joe, two sugars, because that’s just who he is, and a chai latte for himself.

The younger sits there very quietly and nervously, the question on the tip of his tongue, as he tries working up the courage to ask it. He decides that if he can walk up to his undiscovered crush of six years and make out with him for the better part of three hours, he can ask if Jos is _his_ now. If they’re _dating_ now. When he does ask, almost five minutes of deliberation later, hurriedly between two sips of tea, Jos just comes to stand in front of him, places his mug aside, and tongues at his lip sweetly.

“No, we aren’t.”

But before Joe can even think about letting his face fall, before he even registers the words really, Jos tugs him off the barstool, picks a fake rose from the vase on his mantle with his left hand, and drops to one knee, holding Joe’s hand with his right. “Let me take you on a date tonight.” Joe feels his face give away a small smile, as he takes the flower delicately. “We’ll go to the drive-in you always bug me about, and watch whatever movie you want while I try to distract you and get you to make out with me, and then we can go watch the stars, and then I’ll bring you home and I can tuck you into my bed, and into my arms- like I will for the rest of forever. What do you say?” It’s so typically Jos, and, the keeper is smiling so hopefully, and he looks so unbelievably gorgeous, and Joe just loves him so fucking much.

Joe just kisses him, hoping he knows that it’s a yes.

Spoiler alert: Jos knows.


End file.
